


My Sweetest Torment

by orphan_account



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fade to Black, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Post-World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Pre-World of Warcraft: Shadowlands, Snow, Snowball Fight, Stormwind City, The Feast of Winter Veil, Winter, Wranduin Week 2020, snowy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Unto Prince Wrathion of the Black Dragonflight, and Advisor to the Crown of Stormwind,Upon us are the days of Winter Veil, a time celebrating family, community, and comradery. As one of my old friends, I would like to extend a personal invitation to you. Here, you would experience the spectacular festivities led by the citizens, followed by a grand feast held in the Keep of Stormwind City. It would be of greatest honor to have you peacefully revisit the Kingdom of Stormwind; not only for the purpose of diplomacy, but for the goal of rekindling our old friendship.Done this day by my hand,King Anduin Llane Wrynn
Relationships: Wrathion & Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Kudos: 26





	1. A Snowy Day in Stormwind City

Oh, how the lively crunch of snow brought a dormant joy to the surface. A layered white blanket covered the usual grey of the city’s stone, the sky’s song sounded strongly in all listening ears, and the heavens craftily sprinkled millions of fleeting crystals down to the earth. Ice hung like diamonds from bared tree branches, and it stilled the rushing of the brackish, underfoot canals. With every step, the High King marked his particular path: away from the walled Keep and towards the familiar gatherings of Stormwind’s citizens.

Anduin Wrynn, like the two guards escorting him through the streets, carried a large pack upon his shoulders. His advisor and fellow king, Genn Greymane, had suggested that he rode upon Reverence to arrive at all his destinations faster. Still, Anduin denied the proposal, not wishing to pass up an opportunity to enjoy a rare snowy day.

Like the city’s name suggested, Stormwind was a tempestuous settlement; due to its positioning upon a cliff and by the water. Typically, mages of several specializations redirected winds, but the drafts were often left alone to drive the snow east towards the forest during the winter.

As he walked west from the keep, the king passed by some citizens willing to brave the cold white of a winter morning. To any children, he gave wooden figurines purchased by some of the carpenters around the city, and to adults, he offered some food or a bit of money: all of which were stowed in the heavy linen bags. And, of course, his benevolent nature required him to distribute plenty of blessings from the Light to anyone with whom he happened to cross paths.

Despite the small number of people out of their homes this early in the morning, Anduin was sure he was being shadowed, and not by his apparent guards. Somewhere among the rooftops, there must have been one of the Spymaster’s agents keeping keen eyes on the King. He couldn’t have stopped them if they tried; the SI:7 never seemed to rest, even now, in this period of tranquility: No war currently plagued Azeroth, no Old Gods poisoned her people. The intelligence organization was fueled on near-paranoia, always anticipating a new threat before the previous one was confronted. Anduin hoped that at least some of Shaw’s agents took time off for a holiday: they more than deserved to do so. Perhaps Anduin would stop by their headquarters in Old Town to share more blessings and goodwill.

Anduin knew he had arrived at the park from the change in the snow’s crunch underneath his boots. As the white sheet yielded to his soles, his foot sank deeper; no longer hindered by cobblestone. Briefly looking behind him, he saw a few blades of dark green grass barely managing to poke their edges above the icy blanket. The prints he and his guards left allowed for some color to emerge from below—previously hidden by the shimmering tell of wintertime.

He hardly saw the ring of purple tents, as their canopies were not exempt from the blanketing of snowfall. Thankfully, memories from previous his visits to Olivia’s Pond guided him to the kaldorei encampment. As he and his guards approached, Anduin could see Queen Mia Greymane walking from person to person, giving them blankets or quilts from the top of the stack in her arms. That gracious woman was always prepared to help and protect those in need, a quality which Anduin couldn’t help but admire.

Mia spotted him before he set foot inside the ring, waving him over. When he reached her, she greeted him warmly. “Good morning, my King, and Happy Winter Veil!” She said cheerily, an ever-present twinkle in her eyes.

“Good morning, Queen Greymane, and a Happy Winter Veil to you as well,” He responded with a smile. “How can I help?” He offered immediately.

The older queen smiled warmly and gestured to a stack of blankets in the center of the tent ring. “If you could, there are plenty of blankets to go around. We will be serving breakfast to everyone shortly if you would prefer to help with that. Everyone is just beginning to wake up and will have to get used to the heavy snowfall from last night,” She said, continuing her walk. As they passed one tent, Mia handed the remaining four blankets to the kaldorei sitting inside, who all smiled and expressed their thanks. The Queen turned from the tent, walking with grace towards the center of the encampment.

Anduin followed closely, hanging on to her every word while nodding eagerly. “There will be some tea served as well, to help everyone wake up,” A playful smile decorated her face as she whispered, “Between you and me, tea is my secret to being so pleasant in the morning. It makes life better for all three of us!”

Both majesties laughed at her wit, then Anduin excused himself to grab some blankets to distribute.

His heart was poisoned with regret when he only saw eight children to give small presents. Each of them approached him warily, while their guardians stood a few paces behind them with unwavering neutrality in their expressions. Silently he handed out the small figurines, receiving a few quiet thank-you’s before the children hurried back to where they previously were.

The final figurine he pulled from his pack was a carved crested owl. He gently handed it to the young Kaldorei boy, who took it with trembling hands. Anduin couldn’t help but watch as tears of sadness welled in those glowing white eyes, just before the boy turned and ran to a woman, speaking a few Darnassian words that Anduin failed to translate into Common.

He felt awful, feeling all eyes upon him. Though no one spoke to him, unless to mutter a curt thanks, he could feel a thousand unspoken accusations hurled at him. He knew no one would openly voice their thoughts, but Anduin agreed with them. _If only he had helped them sooner._

Anduin silently finished handing out blankets then served food to those who approached the cooking fire: spice bread with a cherry jam, herbed baked eggs, and mage royal tea. Each person who came forth quietly held their plate as Anduin filled them, then sat in a large arc around the fire. It took the king a moment to realize why no one was sitting closer to the warmth, despite the near-freezing air, but he made no comments, minding his own business, and continued to serve.

• • •

By the time he reached Cathedral Square, many more people were awake enough to enjoy the snow rather than despise it while in their habitual early morning irritation. Everyone; the visitors from Dun Morogh residing in the Dwarven Districts, various merchants from the Trade Districts, and the many residents of Old Town; all knew to gather at the center of the city. 

Anduin began immediately passing out food, gifts, blessings, and change, receiving plenty of smiles and gratitude: a direct contrast to his reception at the refugee camp. Children were running around with their friends, comparing their gifts, while the adults mingled, talking with friends, neighbors, clergymen, and strangers alike. A small group of mages performed colorful shows in the air, keeping the attention of some other children, who stood with their jaws agape, their faces upturned, while the sky dusted their lashes with snow. Anduin smiled; despite all that had occurred in the last months, a sense of normalcy had returned.

Every year, even before Anduin was the king, he came here to share blessings from the Light and spend time with his citizens. His father often told him that the beautiful Tiffin Wrynn did the same, and for that, everyone loved their queen. Varian often sat with Anduin, rambling on for infinite hours about the angel that was the love of his life, and Anduin always eagerly listened to his father, who was even in love with her memory. Everyone in Stormwind adored the late queen: When celebrating her life, everyone would call out her name towards the sky, believing that she, from her throne of clouds, would hear them and smile down upon them. 

It was because of the love for Tiffin Wrynn and the hatred of her murderer that the angered whispered began when _he_ was spotted in the square.

Anduin was surprised to see Wrathion in Stormwind once again. He certainly was not complaining; rather, he had expected the dragon to be too busy to accept the King’s invitation. Many members of the House of Nobles objected to Anduin’s offer to the dragon, believing that he was too untrustworthy to be within the walls of the city. Despite all that Wrathion had done for Azeroth, many thought he was too much of a threat. Perhaps they were correct, in their concerns, it _was_ possible that Wrathion may have some greater scheme plotted out for the humans of Stormwind, but right now, Anduin did not care: he simply wanted to share a mortal experience with an immortal friend.

Wrathion stood awkwardly on the snow-covered bridge, which was incredibly out-of-character, Anduin thought. Usually, the dragon radiated such confidence that he could change an entire room’s mood by simply being present. Seeing his advisor holding his own hands as if he had no idea what to do with them made the king’s heart flutter. To save his friend from this awkward state, Anduin strode over to him with a bright smile and open arms as everyone around watched skeptically.

“King Anduin, I am honored to have received your invitation,” Wrathion said, not immediately reciprocating the same gesture to exchange a hug. Anduin quickly reacted to prevent more awkwardness, instead offering the dragon his hand. Wrathion took it in a firm handshake; in his eyes revealed no reaction to the odd exchange.

“Advisor Wrathion, it is my pleasure to have you here. You could easily find a more authentic Winter Veil celebration in Ironforge, but I like to think Stormwind isn’t too far behind,” Anduin joked with a chuckle.

“My friend, do not make me reconsider this journey. I was promised a spectacular celebration, and hope your city will deliver,” the dragon responded with a gleam of mirth in his eyes. Anduin’s smile widened at the dragon’s quip.


	2. The Battle of Cathedral Square

It took the entirety of Anduin’s willpower not to grab Wrathion by the hand and run with him towards the center of the square. Instead, the pair walked in awkward silence, observing the cheer around them. The king’s mind also defiantly wandered to memories of the dragon beside him. Years ago, when Anduin was still recovering, Wrathion often kept him company. The odd pair of princes could often be found sitting together in one of the tavern’s many rooms, reading by the light of the sun or the hearth. Sometimes, for the priest’s entertainment, Wrathion would take to the skies in his true form, deftly weaving through the potent forces of nature; rains, snows, and winds alike; as Anduin watched, enchanted, from beside a window, or just outside the building. 

‘Does he ever feel cold?’ The king thought, stealing a glance toward the figure walking beside him. Wrathion wore loose, dark wine-colored trousers, with a darker shaded tunic, both of which seemed far too light for the current weather. He even lacked his signature coat; instead, wearing only a large red scarf around his torso, that seemed to be of fabric too thin to be effective. His dark leather boots, surprisingly ones without their pointed tips, seemed the most suitable for keeping him warm, simply by being high enough that no snow would come into contact with his skin. ‘Perhaps not, as he _is_ a dragon.’

Once they finally arrived at the place Anduin had set down his pack, Wrathion spoke up.

“Forgive me for being so blunt, but might I ask why this festival has consumed your attention?” Anduin’s eyes, though they hardly needed an excuse, darted toward the dragon. “Considering the aftermath of somewhat recent events, I am surprised that everyone finds themselves so... _distracted_ ,” the prince offered.

The celebrations of Winter Veil had always been part of the young king’s life. Since he was a child, the decorations, presents, and celebrations had all been customary occurrences. While he had soon come to learn the true meaning of the holiday, the sense of normalcy was _necessary._ Simply having the festivities and leading normal daily lives despite the many hardships and losses wrought by war spread a feeling of universal hope. Perhaps someone with eyes on a future, long past the day which Anduin’s remains will finally crumble and join the mass of Azeroth Herself, did not always take the days of the present into account.

“I suppose it is the sense of familiarity that the holiday brings that is important to everyone. To us all, it serves as a reminder that we can recover from—no, transcend all we have endured.” Anduin responded, halting his steps. “Besides, you’ll be here with me. I-in Stormwind, of course,” the king swiftly added.

Wrathion smiled, looking up at the sky towards the falling snow. “Very well, then. Then consider this a second acceptance of your invitation. What lies first on your agenda?”

“That would be gift giving!” Anduin exclaimed, lightly shoving a half-emptied bag of presents into Wrathion’s unsuspecting arms. Taking a bag from one of his guards, Anduin led the way towards a bench where the two of them could sit while distributing gifts. Wrathion followed without complaint.

The dragon and the king sat on the stone bench together, after first brushing off the layer of snow. Reaching into the bag to retrieve one of the wooden figurines, Anduin spoke. “I think that my favorite part of Winter Veil is the meeting of strangers. Very few have an excuse not to come out and join the festivities; with so many people gathering, it’s nearly impossible not to establish relationships.”

Beside him, Wrathion chuckled lowly. “Like them, you mean?”

Anduin dared to follow the prince’s gaze, which lay on a couple sitting on another bench a few yards away. One of the pair held a small green object overhead, then the two of them leaned in—Anduin looked away when he realized that said object was a sprig of mistletoe. Anduin felt his cheeks warm.

Wrathion shifted: elbow on knee and head in hand. “That seems familiar, don’t you think, Anduin?” He asked in mock-contemplation.

Anduin was suddenly aware of the distance between himself and Wrathion. ‘Is it wrong of me to sit so close?’ he thought, wondering if this were too intimate a closeness. ‘Is it wrong for me to be comfortable next to him? But he _is_ very warm…’ Anduin began thinking about Wrathion’s words. What was he playing at? Was he making an offer: to continue what they had started all those years ago? Or was this just another sarcastic remark, a trademark of the Black Prince’s ever-charming personality? ‘He _was_ always a flirt,’ Anduin dismissed his wishful thinking.

“Ah, yes. That’s mistletoe, my friend. It is a tradition: to embrace someone you love when you both walk beneath the plant. You know, it was actually a symbol of fertility, and it—”

“Yes, my friend, I know. I was only teasing. But the red of your cheeks so perfectly matches that gnome’s sweater!”

Anduin was grateful when the first children approached them, taking Wrathion’s expectant gaze off of him. He didn’t hate it: His heart fluttered, knowing that he was currently captivating the dragon’s attention, but he became all too self-conscious underneath that crimson stare.

“Would Your Majesty like some cider?” The young girl said, holding two steaming cups. Beside her was a smaller boy, timidly hiding behind her coat from both the king’s view and the increasing winds. “My Papa made it just this morning, and we are going to share it with everyone. He told me how much you love it!” She held the two cups out to the king and his advisor, hardly waiting for a response.

“Thank you! Be sure to tell your father I am thankful for the gift,” The girl nodded eagerly. Anduin pulled two of the toys from his pack after setting the cup beside him. He smiled, seeing both children’s eyes widen in excitement. “I have gifts for you both. Is this your brother?”

“Yes,” the little boy said, peeking out from behind his sister’s skirt. “My name is Maxwell.”

“Maxwell,” Anduin addressed, leaning towards the boy, “this is for you. And this,” he continued, turning towards the girl, “is for you. Have a happy Winter Veil. May I also offer you a blessing?”

After Anduin took both their hands and shared the warmth of the Light with them, the pair of siblings scurried off, running to show off their new toys to their friends. Pretty soon, a line might begin for people to talk with the king. He turned to Wrathion, who watched with an amused expression.

“I take it you love apple cider?” Wrathion asked, taking a sip from the cup that Maxwell’s sister timidly handed him.

“Oh no, I actually hate it. With a passion. I prefer hot cocoa,” Anduin answered, taking hold of the ceramic cup and using it to warm his hands, “Or, anything with chocolate. It was my father’s favorite, though. He and my mother would drink it religiously. But I hate the taste of apples.” With both hands still clamped around the mug, he gestured to the two children skipping back to their father. “That little girl is too young to know that two separate kings reigned during her lifetime,” Anduin explained, staring into the golden liquid which he so abhorred. “But, I suppose, the warmth and familiarity is something which I enjoy. I need it, really.”

“Because of the normalcy?” Wrathion asked, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Because of the normalcy.” Anduin echoed.

• • •

By noon, the king and his advisor had distributed nearly all the toys from the three large packs. All around them were hundreds of children running around and playing in flocks and many more adults friendlily talking and roaming the square. The frequency of their visitors had decreased substantially, allowing them to simply talk, and to begin a proper reunion.

The all-too casual positioning of the king and his draconic advisor seemed to disturb some; particularly the six clergymen huddled in a chattering group, throwing disturbed glances towards the odd couple while whispering harshly and furiously.

“Who do you think they are talking about? You? Or me?” Wrathion asked, shifting to a more casual position if only to spite the gaggle. He folded his leg, resting his foot upon his knee, then rested his arm on the back of the bench, just behind Anduin. He remained facing the group, red eyes staring intimidatingly ahead.

“In all honesty, we’re both fair game,” Anduin said, nonchalantly. “I would stick out my tongue towards them, but I fear I would become indistinguishable from the other children.

To his banter, Wrathion said nothing, which made Anduin fret. Had he said something wrong? Had he sent Wrathion into a thought process of self-doubt? Or was he simply not funny?

Before the king had time to continue to overthink, a particularly harsh gust of wind swept through the square, leaving Anduin shivering. The cup of cider had long cooled, leaving Anduin with no use for it, but to down it, hopefully without tasting it. As the shiver shot through his body, he mentally cursed his coat for not being warm enough, despite the many layers of which it was composed.

“What would you say to a quick walk?” Wrathion said, standing to stretch. “It would do you some good,” He finished, offering the priest a hand. Anduin took it gently, eyes widening at the warmth of the dark skin.

“That would be nice,” Anduin answered with a smile. Reluctantly, he dropped Wrathion’s hand as they turned and began their path around the cathedral.

As the pair passed the gossiping clergymen, Wrathion joked quietly, “My dear, if you walk any closer, they may think you’re in love with me. Perhaps that is what they are discussing.”

Anduin felt his face warm once again, wishing he were invisible. He could never dare to admit his thoughts to the dragon, ‘Perhaps I am in love with you. Still. What then?’

“Sorry!” He exclaimed instead, awkwardly, of course. “I suppose I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s quite alright, my dear.”

• • •

Sometime during their trek, Wrathion began looking up, as if searching for something. Every now and then, his focus would return to their path ahead, but his eyes always snapped back upwards. Eventually, a smile crept onto the dragon’s face, and Anduin’s curiosity could wait no longer.

“What is it? What have you been looking at?” Anduin asked, trying to spot whatever it was that had held the dragon’s attention for so long.

“It would seem that we have a shadow,” he said, turning to Anduin and discreetly pointing behind him. Following the angle at which his thumb was pointed, Anduin saw for a second, the dark uniform of an SI:7 agent, before they ducked out of sight. Anduin couldn’t tell who it was. “I’m sure your spy agency is simply making sure that His Majesty does not wind up missing before the great Feast. ‘Twould be such a dreadful tragedy.” Wrathion said, with a mixture of emotions, including but not limited to amusement, splayed across his sharp features.

Anduin had to smile. “Oh, who would do such a thing?” He said sharply, but quiet. “The citizens of Stormwind would surely revolt if there was such an abrupt halting of the festivities. A tragedy indeed!” He laughed.

The many children in the square had begun their rounds of snow fights. Snowballs of various qualities flew all around, as children chased each other at astonishing speeds, and adults did their best to stay out of the way. Even some of the guards, from their various posts, threw a bit of snow at each other, then pretended that they did no such thing.

“Don’t these people have enough fighting in their lives?” Wrathion muttered with folded arms, observing the event. “Why do they reenact such an atrocity like war?”

“This is only a game,” Anduin tried to explain, but the conversational tangent failed to continue.

As they rounded the final stretch of their circle, Anduin heard someone address him.

“Your Majesty,” A young girl came running over. Her glowing eyes shone with an extra twinkle, matching both the sky and the cerulean of her skin. “Would you like to join our snowball fight? You can be on my team!” She asked, beaming with nervous excitement.

Anduin smiled. “How could I say no! Lead the way!” he said, laughing. The young draenei took him by the hand and ran towards her friends, Anduin stumbling through the snow to keep up. ‘This would be a visual nightmare for that agent,’ he thought, amusedly, as the girl eagerly led him onto the active battlefield.

And so, did the fight begin, with snow and many delightful squeals alike, both filling the winter air. Anduin helped Iraad, his young companion, make plenty of snowballs to pass around to her teammates in order to confront her sister’s team.

The battle waged on for all of ten minutes before said draenei sisters were called to return home and each team crumbled into anarchy; children throwing snow at anyone near enough. Anduin could feel hundreds of eyes upon him as he too played in the snow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, as he playfully ran from a group of dwarves and gnomes trying to catch him.

His eyes briefly caught those of the lone figure, his dragon, sitting quietly on the bench, before Wrathion turned back to the rest of the chaos. The king began walking back toward his advisor, attempting to brush any unmelted snow from his hair. As he drew nearer to Wrathion, his brain concocted a mischievous scheme involving his advisor and snow. Without fully thinking through the plan, Anduin reached down and scooped up a ball of snow, then threw it at Wrathion.

Wrathion was briefly startled by the impact of the snow hitting him, but then he narrowed his eyes and looked around. When his eyes found Anduin’s goofy expression admitting his actions, the dragon’s expression softened, but he did not smile.

Anduin internally panicked once again, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds. He stood still for what felt like an eternity before he finally heard Wrathion speak up.

“You know, I never took you for such a spontaneous warrior.”

As Anduin opened his eyes—he wasn’t entirely sure when he had closed them—he watched in slow motion as a snowball came hurling towards him. He laughed as it hit his shoulder, rushing to retaliate.

The two chased each other childishly around the bench, trying to see who would yield first. 

Before long, Anduin’s world was turned upside down. One minute, he was once again wondering if the dragon before him would get cold, then rushing towards Wrathion with an armful of snow. The next, he was lying on his back at said dragon’s feet, staring up at a smug face. Anduin smiled softly, remembering a time where he saw that same face from this very angle, as he laid his head upon Wrathion’s lap, and the dragon tangled his restless fingers into golden locks—What was he thinking?! That was ages ago, back when they were both younger and more foolish. Perhaps Anduin was still a fool: lost, dreaming about the ignorant bliss of being in love while in his childhood. Such distractions were unbecoming of a king, especially as the eyes of his subjects were upon him.

Wrathion, also aware of the unwanted audience, reached a hand down to help Anduin stand. As the wind once again passed the cathedral, Anduin felt the consequences of the snow fight firsthand.

“I’m sorry. That was rather brash of me.” Wrathion said aloud, to no one in particular. “Come, let’s get you back to the Keep, Your Majesty. I can already hear you shivering,” Anduin didn’t have the willpower to look up at their many shocked spectators. He hardly noticed as Wrathion draped his vibrant scarf around his shoulders, leading him out of the square.


	3. It is Hopeless to Try to Escape Limbo

The clicking of boots, two sets of leather and two of mail, disturbed the odd silence of Stormwind Keep. Neither the King nor the advisor spoke as Wrathion guided Anduin’s shivering form eastward through the city, bringing an untimely end toward Anduin’s holiday tradition. As per tradition, Anduin’s guards trailed them silently, only speaking with one another in hushed tones that even Wrathion’s keen ears might have difficulty catching.

The embarrassment of recent events made the king’s cheeks color so vibrantly, the hue of his skin putting the ripest of holly or the uncanny Smokywood uniforms to shame. With Wrathion’s arm around his shoulders, Anduin hardly felt the winter’s cold biting at his marrow. He had never thought about the benefits of having a draconic friend like this, but he could not complain, though he was entirely aware of how his heart pounded within its cage.

The deeper into the Keep that the odd pair ventured, the more Anduin enjoyed Wrathion’s warmth. He loathed the coming moment when they would have to part, when he must leave the caring embrace, and Wrathion would likely take his leave. Unconsciously, Anduin gripped the bright scarf that was draped upon his shoulders. Perhaps if he forgot to return it to the dragon, Wrathion would have to return to retrieve it, and then they’d enjoy another reunion, and maybe...Oh, Anduin was such a hopeless romantic.

“I had no idea that hurling snow at others was such an accomplishment,” Wrathion finally spoke up, clearly trying to escape the silence which encircled them. The dragon’s bold voice echoed in the stone hall.

“Of course it is!” Anduin retorted through chattering teeth, glad that his advisor had finally spoken. “It is a vital part of my agenda, as you put it.” He smiled genuinely but weakly.

When the dragon and priest arrived before the door to Anduin’s chambers, Wrathion removed his arm from around the king. Anduin almost whimpered aloud at the loss of warmth and exposure to the Keep’s frigid air. The dragon turned to the priest expectantly, to which Anduin quirked an interrogative eyebrow.

Wrathion, understanding the unspoken question, answered, “Well, I wouldn’t want to just barge in, Your Majesty.” A smirk slid across his lips. “I believe that would be rude.”

“Oh.” Anduin’s eyes widened, realizing Wrathion wasn’t leaving quite yet. He stifled a smile while moving to open the door. “Please wait out here,” He asked his guards, as they were already moving toward their positions on either side of the door frame.

The king nervously led the way into his chambers. ‘Was this inappropriate: Inviting the dragon here before their acquaintanceship had fully evolved into a true friendship? Did this count as inviting him, or did Wrathion invite himself? What was Wrathion expecting to happen? Was he aware of what similar scenarios entailed?’

“May I come in?” Wrathion’s voice snapped him out of his spiral thoughts. He stood just in the open doorway, looking at Anduin expectantly.

“Yes. Of course.” Anduin stuttered. He wasn’t aware that his legs had taken him anywhere, but at that moment, he found himself standing in the center of the vestibule, facing the rest of the uninhabited room, while still clutching the dragon’s scarf with white knuckles.  
With Anduin’s given blessing, Wrathion officially stepped inside the room. He gently closed the door, then turned to walk to Anduin, who hadn’t moved. Once he stood before the king, who stared at no particular spot on the floor, Wrathion spoke up. “My dear, is something the matter?”

At the endearment, Anduin’s blue eyes snapped upwards, then trapped in the scarlet pair before him. “I’m just cold,” he managed after multiple elongated moments of silence.

Wrathion’s hand reached up to brush damp hair from Anduin’s face, causing the king’s breath to hitch. He rested the hand on Anduin’s shoulder. “Had I known you still ran this cold, I would not have indulged you and your snow battle,” he said with no emotion in particular. “I would hate to see you sick before the speech, my dear,” Wrathion stated, drawing his warm hand away. He took a step away from the king, turning towards the window. “Take off your clothes, please.”

Anduin almost choked on his breath. Had Wrathion really said that, or was it just Anduin’s wishful thinking? If Wrathion had said that, what did he mean for them to....

Without turning back around to face him, Wrathion chuckled. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction from you. But please, take off those soaked clothes. I promise I won’t peek, if that is your concern,” he explained, walking deeper into the room, towards Anduin’s wardrobe.

Anduin slowly followed with faltering steps, watching the dragon work. It seemed as though the dragon knew where everything was. He pulled out a pair of light blue linen trousers and a white shirt and set them on the king’s bed. Almost immediately, he turned on his heel and strode to the hearth. Wrathion crouched before the stone settle, relocated a few neatly cut logs, then set the wood aflame. To Anduin, this display was incredible, though, to Wrathion, it may have just been a parlor trick.

Once satisfied with his handiwork, the dragon stood and glanced back towards the king. “Well, what are you waiting for? Me?”

Anduin could only stick out his tongue before he turned away from the dragon and began shedding his heavily saturated layers.

• • •

A warm sense of familiarity sated Anduin’s being. He sat in his room, wrapped in a woolen blanket, with a book in hand and a steaming mug of tea set on the table before him. Despite the enjoyable warmth enveloping the entire room, Anduin could still feel fragments of the cold air roving over his skin. Across from him, on the sofa, sat the Black Prince, who seemed equally comfortable.

Wrathion had chosen a book on Aegwynn’s infamous dragon hunt through which he was perusing, while Anduin was rereading the War of the Three Hammers. The dragon sat cross-legged and upright, a position Anduin doubted he could hold for too long before phantom pains came out to play.

Wrathion had stayed with Andun insistent on ensuring that his host would not fall ill because of him. Anduin had haphazardly inquired if Wrathion was certain that he wanted to stay behind with Anduin; to Anduin’s pleasure, Wrathion still wanted to stay. The Black Prince saw to it that Anduin was fully dry and basking in the warmth of the room before Anduin suggested that they simply read to pass the time.

Every few minutes, the young king found himself sneaking a glimpse over the hardcover of the book at the prince who was so elegantly perched upon the cushioned bench. He was enthralled by the way those red eyes efficiently scanned the pages without rest, the mind beyond swelling with knowledge. Anduin’s thoughts drifted off towards the first time he had seen those eyes: _terrifying, mysterious, addicting_.

Wrathion shut the book in his hands without marking his page. He turned to Anduin, who quickly averted his gaze. “What would you say to a game of jihui? It’s been quite some time since we’ve last played,” the dragon eventually asked. Anduin smiled, thinking about their favorite mutual hobby, and the many hours spent challenging the other while in each other’s company.

“That sounds wonderful. I believe I have a set somewhere around here,” Anduin trailed off as if wondering where said game set was, though he knew exactly where in his room it resided. Reluctant to remove himself from his comfort, the king set his book down then stood, clutching the blanket around him to retain the heat he desperately needed, and walked towards the stand beside his bed. Opening the drawer, he pulled out the intricate, unopened wooden box: The jihui set had been a thoughtful parting gift from Tong after the countless days spent at his inn had come to an end. However the game itself only plagued the young priest with heartbreaking memories, and so it remained untouched...

Anduin returned to Wrathion with the jihui set, setting it gently beside his mug. As he took his seat, Wrathion began setting up the game. The forty-eight red and black pieces were perfectly arranged in their respective squares, and the dice were in their canisters, all before Anduin had the chance to help. Anduin looked up at Wrathion with wide eyes, wondering how his memory of the game was still so sharp.

“Your move, my Prince,” the dragon said, gesturing toward the set board. Anduin shivered at Wrathion’s words, they echoed the days in which they would walk everywhere arm-in-arm, locked in their pleasant courtship.  
As Anduin looked to the board, he realized sadly he could not remember how to play. Not wanting to disappoint Wrathion, he reached for one of the pieces—a warlord, he hoped—with trembling hands, and picked it up to move it.

Wait, had he forgotten to roll the dice first? He quickly returned the piece to it’s square, desperately racking his brain for rules of the gameplay.

“Anduin, are you still cold?” Wrathion’s voice thankfully interrupted Anduin’s misfocus on the game.

“What? Oh, no, I just—”

“Anduin, I can see you shivering.” Wrathion suddenly reached across the board and grasped the king’s hand within his own. “Gods, Anduin. Come here.”

Anduin froze. He wanted nothing more than to sit beside Wrathion, and to once again be surrounded by his warmth. “Pardon me? I’m sorry, I'm—"

“Anduin, please, just forget your formalities for a moment. It’s just us here—not the entirety your court—and by me, you’ll be closer to the fire.” Blue eyes locked with red ones as the two waited for the other to say anything. Then, Wrathion smiled softly, his expression warm like the room. “Besides, you’ll be here, with me,” he said, echoing Anduin’s words from earlier.

After another few moments of internal turmoil, Anduin caved and stood. With each step he took towards Wrathion, he swore he felt warmer. Perhaps it was simply the mild panic threatening to explode through his layers of attempted calmness. He tried his damndest to keep his blush at bay, sending an additional prayer up toward the Light this day: If he couldn't suppress the coloring of his cheeks, that it would at least be hidden by the glow of the fire, or even the scarlet gaze intently trained upon him. As he sat next to the dragon, Wrathion opened his arms, allowing Anduin to lean comfortably against him and his dragonic warmth.

Anduin dared not close his eyes, for fear of falling back into deep, happier memories lost in the past. It ought to be forbidden to dream of recreating such intimate memories...But Anduin dreamed, oh, how he still dreamed.

“This reminds me of our days at the Stair,” Wrathion’s rumbling voice added to Anduin’s state of tranquility.

Anduin sighed, losing the battle within his own mind. He thought of how they used to hold each other so affectionly.

“Everything was so much easier then. We didn’t have to worry about too much then. Now that most of it’s over, the Legion, and N’Zoth, I feel like the next problem is going to spring up any moment,” he whispered, though Wrathion could hear him clearly.

The dragon hummed, as if in pondering. “Do you think about those days often?”

Anduin felt a smile twitching on his own lips. Of course he did, though he doubted he would ever admit that to anyone. “Yes, I do."

Suddenly, he felt Wrathion’s hand brushing hair away from his face once again. “Do you think about us often?”

Anduin managed to stifle a nervous laugh. Oh, if only the dragon would peer inside of his mind to see the answer for himself. Or perhaps, the dragon already knew. “...Yes.” Anduin whispered, quieter than he spoke before. He pondered spilling the contents of his heart out to the dragon; to tell the dragon about every time Anduin had thought of him and wished that he was there, with him…

“Anduin,” Wrathion whispered, as everything around them seemed to dim. Anduin lifted his head to properly regard the dragon. He was beautiful as ever; he was here, closer than they have been in years. In the silence before the dragon’s next words, Anduin could hear both of their hearts beating quickly, almost in sync. “If you would have me, I would be yours again.”

Anduin wasn’t sure if he had heard his words correctly. Regardless, he spontaneously leaned closer to the dragon, watching as his red eyes widened ever-slightly. By then, their noses were brushing, their lips almost touching, but neither moved further. They regarded each other up close, as though waiting for the other to make the next move. Anduin’s heart almost ached, while he was suspended in this limbo.

“May I kiss you?” he asked the dragon timidly, subconsciously knowing the answer.

“You may,” Wrathion whispered breathlessly.

“I would be yours,” Andiun responded, finally leaning in.


End file.
